Echoes (III) Chosen
by Soo W
Summary: Anna arrives in London and makes a new friend. But then, just as she's getting over Liam, a letter arrives.
1. Default Chapter

Echoes (III) Chosen 1/3

Disclaimer: These characters belong to WB/Joss/Fox etc etc, but certainly not to me. I'm only writing this for fun and therapy. And because there are NEVER, ever, enough flashbacks.

Pairing: Anna + 1

Spoilers: Based loosely on events in Becoming and The Prodigal

Short Summary: Anna's new life - and a letter arrives. Finding herself in London without work, Anna is forced to make the best of things. She misses Liam, but quickly makes a friend. Then, just as she's beginning to feel happier, a longed for letter arrives. Anna's POV.

Comments: Follows on from "Echoes (II) - Still Life". Second in the "Echoes" series. The "Echoes" series is a sequel to Pen Pictures, and the whole lot starts from the premise that Liam was having an affair with Anna (the servant who appears in a flashback in AtS) before he was turned. There will be five in this series: "Caught Red-Handed" from Liam's POV, "Still Life" from Darla's POV, "Chosen" from Anna's POV, "The Wheel's Kick" from Angelus' POV and "Kaleidoscopic" from everyone's POV.

Echoes (III) Chosen 1/3 

It's always crowded, and the people that drink here are less good-humoured than those you'll find in the taverns back home. At first I hate it; there's always people trying to grab me pull me about, and the smell of ale and snuff is overpowering. But I do my work as best I can, and find that if I cover up and don't look them in the eye, they're more likely to leave me alone. So I keep my hair close, my throat covered and my eyes on the floor. There are plenty of barmaids here who will be friendly with them, so when they learn I am not likely to be compliant, they lose interest and their attention switches to easier prey. For sure, I make less money than the others, but that does not worry me.

Only one man continues to pay me compliments, a young fellow, who looks like he may not be more than fifteen. He has no beard, fine hair the same colour as mine but cropped short, a smooth cheek that sometimes flushes when I walk past and a slight figure and small feet, only partly concealed by his rough, workman's clothing.

The more dowdy I become compared to the other girls, the more plainly dressed, the brighter his eye when he looks at me. Once, when I served him, he tried to draw me into conversation, but beyond telling him where I came from and where I had worked before coming to London, I would not be detained.

The next day, he was back, but this time supporting a sprained wrist, which was strapped to his chest. As a matter of politeness I enquired after his health, and he said he had fallen awkwardly, and that it was a minor injury and nothing to worry about. Later that same night, as I left the bar, I heard a commotion in an alleyway to one side of the bar. 

I knew it was probably drunks brawling, and that there was not likely to be anything for me to do; besides, the most sensible course would be for me to get away, as quickly as possible, for it is not unknown for women to be attacked in this part of town. Nevertheless, I did take a peek around the corner just in case and I saw the young man from the bar, fighting with three others. I thought for sure that would be the last I would see of him. They were bigger and he would certainly end up dead or badly injured.

You can imagine my shock at seeing him in the bar the next day. True, he carried a bruise on his forehead, but his arm was no longer bandaged and he seemed to have no difficulty walking. Intrigued, I broke a personal rule and came over to him, to ask after his well-being.

He smiled at me as I arrived, as if we were old friends, and beckoned me to sit by him. I did so, breaking another rule, but my curiosity was engaged, and I cannot explain why, but I felt he was unlikely to harm me. I explained I had seen him in the alleyway and was concerned that he had been badly beaten.

His face clouded over, and he shook his head at me and said, "What were you doing in such a place?"

I reminded him that the alleyway in question was just by, and that I worked here.

"And you leave at what time? And you have no escort to take you home? This is not right; this cannot be left so. You are not safe."

I was touched by his concern, and, stupidly, my eyes misted over. To cover my distress I changed the subject and asked him some irrelevant question about himself. But he was as coy as I, and steered the conversation away; then we talked about many things; we were in a coze together for at least another hour. He never tried to touch me or move the discussion in the direction of the rooms overhead (always at patrons' disposal). He has been to Ireland many times, to Galway once, and he listened to me talk about home with a kind smile. The landlord assumed I was trying to seduce him and never bothered us, but eventually I had to return to my work.

That night when I left he was waiting for me outside. I told him that I didn't need an escort, and that I always went straight to my lodgings, which were nearby, and never loitered. He would not take no for an answer, however. Finally, I explained that it wouldn't be seemly for me to be seen taking him home with me. I appreciated I was only a barmaid, and that this place had a poor reputation, but that was all the more reason to be careful about my own.

"Don't fret," he said, "That is easily remedied. I'll walk behind you, ten paces. No-one will think we're together. When we arrive, I'll watch you go in and then go on my way. There's no need for us to say goodbye."

So that's what happened. Every evening, I would leave my workplace as normal, and at some time become aware of him pacing quietly behind me. Arriving home, I would take the steps to my room two at a time, and see him across the street, staring up at my window. He would blow me a kiss, or touch the corner of his hat (a rough cap worn at an odd angle) and turn to leave.

I must confess, it was nice to feel cared for in this way, but as we never spoke on these journeys and were almost equally silent and distant when he came to the bar, it did not make me feel any the less alone. 

I missed Liam, every day, and often thought about returning to Galway to see him. But it was only a thought to indulge myself with of a lonely evening, not one to be acted on. I was not ashamed of what I'd done, I loved him, and could not count it a sin. (Besides, there are women here who would do more out in the street if you paid them well enough, and when the wickedness of this place is before your very eyes, you are apt to be lighter when condemning yourself).

But I could not rely on him, and therefore it was better to be a long way away, where I would not be tempted into anything stupid and ruinous. As for attaching myself elsewhere, although I longed for someone to kiss me like he could, and my skin sometimes thirsted for a touch as sure as his, nearly all the men I saw were drunk and vicious most of the time, so it was not hard to resist the temptation. 

Eventually my friend told me his name was Joe, and I told him mine, but for a while that was as far as our friendship went. I became accustomed to having him there, and stopped thinking about the streets as a dangerous place.


	2. Chapter 2

Echoes (III) Chosen 2/3 Echoes (III) Chosen 2/3 

One evening, a group of well dressed young men came, whooping and hollering, down the street towards me, and I stopped and watched them as they approached. They didn't seem to think it necessary to change their course because of me, and I was expecting to be bowled over when I felt a pair of hands on my arm, pulling me to one side. The hands flung me against a wall, which winded me slightly, and then I felt a body covering me as the men raced past. 

Joe was just the same height as myself, slightly short for a man, and consequently his face and mine were brought close together while he protected me. His head was turned to one side, and for the first time I noticed how flawless his skin was. His mouth was small and pink, and his eyes clear and focused, unlike someone who had been drinking all evening. It occurred to me that I had never actually seen him consume any ale. Most of the men at the bar smelled of alcohol; he smelled of soap and something else, indefinable, rather like fresh clothing. A wholesome smell. We were pressed together for seconds, but it was enough for my skin to flush and my heart to be in my throat as he pulled away. I did not know where to look, and then he offered me his hand and pulled me from the wall, saying, "They're gone. Just drunken young idiots. Come on."

We walked several yards together before my look reminded him he should not keep hold of my hand. He dropped it straight away, and half-apologised, half-laughed, "Oh! I'm sorry! I forgot." By that time I was in two minds whether I wanted him to let go. It felt so nice to be touched, and not grabbed; to feel someone's fingers curl around yours through absent-minded friendship, and not because they seek to control you.

After several weeks of his protection, I became convinced he would never trouble me for anything in return. By that time I was established in my work, I had lodgings I could call home, and a kind friend. I should have been content. But the heart never seems to be satisfied with what it has. Many evenings I would arrive home, having spent the journey wishing for Joe to take my hand once again, and spend the night wishing for Liam to write to me and tell me I was wrong to leave. 

I arrived home late one night and came to the casement as usual, but Joe was nowhere to be seen. I scanned the pavement in either direction; the street seemed completely empty. I checked the other window, which overlooks a patch of waste ground, covered with low bushes and weeds. One of the larger bushes was shaking and, to my horror, behind it I could make out Joe struggling with a man who seemed twice his size. Seeing no option, I rushed out to help him, thinking that if I made enough noise the attacker might take fright and run off, for it was certain he was too big for even both of us to fight.

By the time I arrived, the man had disappeared and Joe was lying on the ground. His coat was torn away, and hung from one shoulder. Blood was pouring from a wound in his arm, seeping through his shirt. I knelt and tried to revive him, and to my astonishment, he came round moments later.

"Anna? What are you doing here?"

"You were attacked!"

He looked at me sharply, "Did you see what happened?"

I explained that his attacker must have run off while I was coming down the stairs.

"Yes, I think he must have." He stood, his wounded arm held to his chest, and started to slap the dust from his clothing with his good hand. After a few moments he looked at me again and said, "I'm not badly hurt. You should get inside. There may be others."

I shook my head. "You can't go home like that. You must let me bandage your arm at least." He regarded his arm dispassionately, as if it belonged to someone else. 

"I suppose it is bleeding."

So I took him up to my room and found an old sheet that would tear easily into strips. I took some water and washed the wound, and bandaged his arm. It took me a while, but I managed it fairly well, although not expertly by any means. He watched me all the time, with a small, private smile, as if there were some joke of which I was not aware.

I finished my work and pulled the tattered sleeve of his shirt down over the bandaged wound. He settled back against the cushions I had placed for him on the couch, and his eyes followed me as I rolled the remainder of the bandages away, and put the kettle back on the fire so that I could make him a cup of tea.

"You're so... why aren't you married to someone?"

"There was never anyone I wanted to marry," I lied.

Clearly, my face must have given me away, because his next question was, "Who was he?"

"I don't want to talk about him."

He was silent for a moment, than said very quietly, "It's hard to lose someone like that. I know. There was a time..." His voice trailed off and he never completed the sentence, just let it hang there between us.

After he'd taken his tea, he stood, as if to go, but staggered slightly and was forced to sit down again.

"My head. It's swimming a little."

"You need to rest."

"I'll be all right in a moment."

I toyed nervously with the remains of the bandage, and heard myself say, "You could stay here." 

He opened his eyes and smiled at me. "What about your precious reputation?"

I didn't know what to say to that, and so I cleared away the bowl and the cloth and placed them on the washstand. Intense loneliness, thoughts of Liam, and fear of what they might lead me to, made my heart heavy again. I kept my back turned and my head bent, and when the tears began they splashed into the bloody water.

"Anna?"

I felt his arms circle me from behind and instantly I turned and buried my face in his neck. 

"Don't cry. Don't. I won't stay. I'll wait a few more minutes and go. Everything will be fine." His sweet, fine voice whispered soothingly to me and I feel the incredibly soft skin of his cheek against my ear. "You have nothing to fear from me."

It was the first time in many weeks that another human being had touched me like this, and, all of a sudden, I was determined to have him stay. It was not bearable that he should go and I should be left alone with my thoughts again. A desperate resolution overtook me and I wrapped my arms around his neck and started to kiss him hungrily. He was surprised, at first, then he kissed me back with equal fervour. But then, instead of thrusting his tongue into me as I expected, he drew back and became gentle. Cradling my head, he touched each of my lips with his, softly at first, then drawing one, then the other into his mouth a little and releasing it slowly. His kisses brought blood to the surface of my skin, but instead of making me raw, I felt everything more keenly. After a few kisses, the simple act of his lips brushing mine was enough to make me shake. I was never made to feel so aroused just by being kissed before, and this with no force or invasion; no-one ever kissed me with such delicacy.

I felt his hands at my waist and he pushed me from him and held me, a foot away.

His breathing was ragged, and his face was stained with red. Well, as to that, it was like looking into a mirror because I felt my cheeks burn and my chest rise and fall rapidly.

"Anna, I'm sorry." he began, his voice squeaking in panic, then "Oh God. You can't. You don't know what you're doing. You don't know me. You don't know anything about me."

"I know you're sad. I know you're lonely. I know... you lost someone dear. We're very much alike. I... I could comfort you."

He smiled that small, secretive smile again. "Yes, you could. And you have no idea how much I'd love your comfort. But you... What I'm trying to say is, we're even more alike than you think." Turning, he rumpled his short, fair hair with his hands and took a step away. Then he said, softly, with his back still towards me, "This is impossible."

I looked at the floor in the hope that it might open up and swallow me. When I gathered enough courage to raise my head again, he was gone. Shamelessly, I rushed to the door, my impulse was to go out into the hallway and find him, bring him back and make him stay with me, but I stopped in my tracks as something caught my attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone stood by my bed, at the far end of the room where I least expected them to be. A naked body, folding discarded clothes and placing them neatly in a pile on the floor. A pale and delicate body, with one arm hastily bandaged. A body turning to face me, squarely, without concealment.

A woman's body. Joe.


	3. Chapter 3

Echoes (III) Chosen 3/3 Echoes (III) Chosen 3/3 

I awoke the next morning to find her asleep beside me. I rose and dressed, creeping about the room, hoping not to wake her. Just as I was taking the kettle from the fire and pouring water onto the leaves, I heard a rustle as she sat up.

"Good morning."

I replaced the kettle with shaking hands. When I turned she was standing, with a sheet from the bed draped around her, like an ancient Greek. I had no idea how to behave, but she smiled and held her arms out to me and I went to her awkwardly, but gladly. We kissed, shy at first, then her arms circled my waist, and I tentatively passed my hand over her small breasts, which were hidden in the tangle of bedclothes. I stroked her through the cotton, in gentle, decreasing, circular movements which seemed to end when I reached the centre but then somehow started all over again. 

I had no idea whether she would like it; when she dropped the sheet, I hesitated, but she guided my hand back to her. Resting her forehead against mine she allowed me to touch her in this way until she was quite breathless, then she whispered, "Annie, come back to bed..." and drew me gently down with her. 

Last night I had thrown my own clothes off in a desperate hurry to measure my own naked form against hers. Now, she undressed me slowly, lingering over each garment as if fascinated, and I guessed from this she really never dressed like a woman. I didn't understand why, we had not yet much time for talking. She lay me back against the sheets, and cooed over my beauty, as she called it. Then we slid back into the covers and entwined ourselves in each other. She kissed my face and neck, and dipped to take the tip of my breast in her mouth. This time, she did not ask my permission, nor hold back until I begged her to touch me, as she had done a few hours before; she slid her fingers directly between my legs and caressed and probed me there until I gasped out my joy again. I hardly knew how to please her so well, but I tried to imitate her, and everything I did she praised, only regretting that sometimes the doing of it prevented her from touching me some more.

Afterwards, we lay still and she explained her life to me. She said was chosen to do some great task, the details of which she was not permitted to share, and from it arose the necessity to conceal herself and to dress as a man.

"Because of the fighting?" I asked in awe.

She picked up a lock of my hair and arranged it around my face. 

"Yes, in part. I need to be able to fight and could not do so dressed as a woman."

"And is that why..." I stopped, unsure of what I was asking.

She finished my question, "Why I wanted you, and not a man?"

"Forgive me. Yes."

She smiled, "No, I think not. I was never very interested in men. And I had lovers who were women before I was chosen."

I sighed and pulled back the covers so I could see her pale body again. Apart from her hair, and that I am, in places, a little fuller, she looked so much like me. Without thinking, I slid down the bed and pushed her legs apart, using my mouth on her as Liam has shown me how, in the kitchen at the old house, all those months before. Her small, husky cries filled the room, and I was never happier to have the knowledge of how to give someone pleasure in my life.

I think she was surprised, because when I lay back, she traced the outline of my face with her fingers in silence for a while. Then she rose and declared she would fetch us breakfast. The tea by this time was very cold, but the fire was still lit, so she started to heat the water again, and then looked around for things to eat. I had a loaf and some eggs and usually cooked by means of a pot that hung above the fire, but she looked confused by this arrangement, and finally she turned to me and remarked, "Shall we go out for breakfast?"

"Didn't you ever learn to cook?"

She shook her head. "It always looks so easy when other people do it."

"How do you eat, then?"

"My Watcher.."

"Watcher?"

"I live with a gentleman who looks after my well-being, and also trains me to fight and finds out where I need to be and why."

"A gentleman?" I try, but I don't think I keep the tone of jealousy out of my voice.

She climbed back on the bed and nestled down behind me. She stroked my hip and spoke into my hair, "He's like a father to me. They take whoever is chosen away from her parents, and give her to a Watcher. Who cares for her. But he is not free to care for her in that way; neither is she free to attach herself to him. Or strictly speaking, elsewhere," she swept my hair away and nuzzled my neck, "But that is a rule frequently broken."

"You said, where you're needed, do you move around?"

She said that she moved around a lot, hardly ever in one place for more than a year. "There's a particular purpose for being in any place. I wish I could tell you, but it isn't permitted."

"So, you're here now for a particular purpose?"

"I'm looking for someone. Someone I have to fight."

There was a knock on the door. I reluctantly scrambled out of bed and wrapped myself in a dressing gown. "Who is it?"

I heard the weak voice of the wizened old man who keeps the door. "Gen'leman left a message for you, Miss. Early this mornin'. Wouldn't come off the doorstep, arsked me to pass it to you in person, like."

I told him to leave it outside and waited until his shuffling footsteps faded away. I smiled at Joe. "It must be from your Watcher, certainly. You're the only gentlemen I know in London."

But the note was addressed to me. I tore it open. An elegant feminine hand, but my eye was instantly drawn to the powerful scrawl of the signature. Liam.


End file.
